by HJ Bellus
“Get in my truck, and we will see if you’re going to work out, boy.” He creeps down his front steps at his own speed. “I don’t let just anyone on this farm. I’m still deciding if this is going to work out.”
I nod. Not sure what to say. I settle into the small, beat up, farm truck. I watch as the man takes a good ten minutes to get in behind the steering wheel. Hell, I don’t even know his name at this point. He’s less than friendly, so I have no clue how to approach him.
He fires up the truck, and it starts on the first try, shocking the hell out of me.
“Look behind me, boy. Anything in my way?” He shifts the truck into reverse, revving up the engine.
Slowly, I pivot in my seat to see the path is clear, and thanking God I parked my truck at the end of the drive.
“It’s clear.”
He punches it in reverse sending gravel flying up in the air. He has the little truck bounding through the rows and rows of old equipment. Once again, I’m in awe of how organized all the junk is.
He slams on the brakes after we’ve only gone about fifteen yards. “See that piece of metal there?”
“Yes.”
“Get out and put it in the back of the truck.”
I answer with actions, popping open the door and hustling over to it. Picking it up, I notice it’s just an old piece of scrap metal. I set in the bed of the truck, coming face-to-face with another shock. There’s shit scattered everywhere in it. It’s all junk.
He has the truck in gear driving away before I have the chance to get my legs in. Thank God I still hit the gym five times a week. I keep the chuckle in at this absurd situation. I pat my thighs, thankful the old wheels still have a giddy up and go. Football has always been my favorite sport, and I have three State Champion titles to prove it.
The truck comes to another stop with the brakes working overtime, squeaking out their pain. This time he doesn’t tell me what to do, but only points at a rusty rim lying in the grass. I hop out to grab it and place it in the bed of the truck. We do this for the next three hours. My frustration level morphing to a boiling point. I pride myself in not losing my temper, but this man is pushing even my limits. Three damn hours worth of work I could’ve got done in fifteen minutes.
“Anything behind me?” He asks for the twentieth time today.
“You’re clear.”
It’s clear this man cannot turn his head to the side to check his surroundings and that he also can’t remember where all of his shit is.
“Eight hundred acres,” he begins talking once he drives back toward his house. “My dad built the house and farmed this land for years, and then I took it over. I think you’ll work out just fine, boy.”
I drop my head back to the tattered headrest, wanting nothing more than to get the hell out of here. This is nothing but a damn joke and waste of a day.
“Had a stroke seven years ago, can’t move like I used to. Need help keeping this place up. It’s all I’ve ever known.”
There’s no response I can muster up, so I sit and listen to him ramble on.
“Kids these days don’t know how to work. I won’t put up with bullshit or you being a pussy. Things are always my way.” His bony and contorted fingers struggle to grip the steering wheel.
The day was complete bullshit. I’m frustrated, tired, and sick of this crap. I scrub my face with the palm of my hands trying to find a way out of this. It’s obvious he doesn’t open up easily to anyone, and it seems he is with me. His few words were a job offer or some shit like that. When I open my eyes again, I stare at the perfect rows of equipment, and that’s when it hits me. Back in the day, each of them were shiny and in their prime, just like the man sitting next to me.
His soul is still so much in love with this farm and all of his junk, but his body is giving out on him. Is that what happens when you love the land so much?
“I’ll pay you once a month.”
His gruff words cause me to look over at him. I struggle to see the young man who used to have a body that allowed him to live, but it never comes. It’s just a shell of a man fighting to survive.
“Sounds good.” The words slip from my mouth before I realize it.
“Every Saturday at nine am sharp. No excuses, boy.”
My fists clench and unclench with his lack of respect for me. “I have a name, and it’s Hunter Yates. I’d appreciate if you use it.”
A slow smile spreads out on the wrinkles of his face, then he extends his shaky hand to me. It’s then I see how messed up his hands are, riddled with arthritis just like my great grandma’s use to be. I slip my hand into his and shake.
“Dave. My name is Dave.”
2
Hunter
“I'm country through and through.” –Miranda Lambert
Did that just really happen? The stench from his house is still lingering on my clothes and skin, forcing me to have the windows open in my truck. The cool breeze of Northern Idaho doing nothing to take it away. I don’t think a case of Febreeze would even do the trick.
Just my fucking luck. Find a job that might keep me busy and add some money to my bank account, only for it to turn out to be a damn wild goose chase. Here my hands are thirsty for real farm or ranch work. The kind leaving your bones exhausted and your heart gratified after a long day or working the soil or a herd of cattle.
I slam the steering wheel with my fist out of frustration, then immediately pet the center of it.
“Sorry, girl.”
A blur of bright red up on the side of the road catches my attention, then a car comes into view. I slow down my truck as I had it open at full throttle, turn on my hazards, and pull up behind the car. The pools of red weren’t from the color of the car, but rather radiating from the woman in the middle, kicking the shit out of her flat tire. Long, crazy locks of deep auburn hair curl down way past her back.
“Hey.” I beam walking up to her. “Need some help?”
She bites down on her bottom lip, I’m sure capturing it in a smartass reply, which only makes me smile at her. Feisty. I already like her.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” I kneel down, looking at the blown-out tire.
When I look closer at the wheel and tire, I can see wires poking through. This girl didn’t run over a sharp object, but literally drove the tire off her car.
“Got a spare?” I look up at her, thankful the brim of my hat is shading my eyes.
“Yes.”
Her answer not convincing me at all. It’s her action of nibbling on her bottom lip and when I spot her spare, I know exactly why. It may have fifteen miles left on it, if that. I’m shocked when she has the jack ready with the tire iron spinning in her other hand.
“Thanks,” I peer up at her with a slow forming grin on my face.
“Teale. My name is Teale Wickett and you’re welcome…”
Her last word lingers in question, searching for my name. It’s a perfect pleasure bantering with her while saving her on the side of the road. It washes away the oddness I just experienced at Dave’s place. Hell, I hope this girl can’t smell the stench from his house.
“I mean I could call you Tim The Tool Man Taylor or Mr. Fix It if your name is top secret or some crazy shit like that.”
I realize she began rambling on because I’m just staring up at her. She’s gorgeous and has quite the mouth on her as well. Witty as all get out, unlike the girls at campus.
“You can call me whatever you’d like. I tend to go by Hunter Yates.”
“Tend to?” She asks.
I shrug, reaching up for the tire iron, making sure our hands brush. “Like I said whatever you’d like to call me, Teale.”
Testing her name out on my lips. It’s delicious.
She clutches her chest stepping back and bites down on her lip. The gesture is sexy as fuck, giving me all sorts of naughty plans. Damn, she needs to knock that shit off before I embarrass myself in front of her. I change the tire like some goddamn NASCAR pit crew. Shit, this little bit of
work is more productive than the whole wasted afternoon at Dave’s.
“Gonna follow you into town.” I brush off my hands on the front of my jeans. “Drive slow. We’ll be lucky if it makes it that far. You can get a new tire and then be back on the road.”
“Okay, Mr. Fix It, sounds like a plan.” Teale hops in her tiny car and speeds down the highway.
She has one speed; no wonder her tires are so damn bald. I follow her taillights into town, doing my best to keep up with zippy. She doesn’t use her blinker when making a hard left into a local mechanic shop. At least she listened to one piece of my advice.
Teale’s long legs fall from the car. Sitting in my truck, I take the time to drink her in. She’s pulled her wild hair up into one of those messy things on top of her head, she’s damn near as tall as me with long, athletic legs on display in her shorts. Her appearance in this parking lot is large and in charge, the complete opposite from her on the side of the road.
This woman is already a mystery I’m dying to solve. Too bad she’s just passing through because I could have fun with her.
She’s standing next to me, tapping on my window and leaning in. Her scent is sweeter than honey, making me drunk on her. What in the hell is happening here? I’ve been hanging around Burton way too long. His bad habits are rubbing off on me, proving my theory that if you hang out around stupid people your IQ drops.
“Got a new name for you. Teale On the Side of the Road.” I smile at her.
“Got a new name for you, too, Mr. Fix It. Chicklets…damn you have a cute smile.”
I don’t miss the fact she’s taking in my flexed arms and stares a tick too long at my dimples.
“Ain’t nothing pretty about me, Jeff Gordon.”
“Jeff Gordon?” She asks, tilting her head to one side, wrinkling up her cute nose in disgust.
“You drove like a bat out of hell after I told you to take it easy.”
“That was me taking it easy.”
I throw my head back in laughter. It feels damn good easing some of the stress of the day away. When I look up again, Teale is heading into the shop, and that’s when I spot a “Help Wanted” sign.
“By damn,” I whisper.
This girl may have just been the perfecting ending to my day in more than one way. Teale’s behind the counter in the tiny office with an older man giving her hell when I make it in the shop.
“See.” She points to me when I walk in. “Wasn’t a stranger. It was him. Hunter Something-or-other.”
I raise my hands up in innocence.
“Teale.” The guy slams the counter. “If there’s anything I’ve taught you, it’s how to change a tire and the oil in your car. You can change a damn tire faster than most men in this shop.”
“I know, Dad.” She slumps her shoulders in defeat. “He offered.”
I slowly lower my hands and step forward. “You played me?”
“You assumed,” she accuses.
“Damn kid.” Her dad shakes his head. “And let me guess, you never switched out your spare either?”
Teale begins to skirt around the question, deflecting her dad. Being the gentlemen I am, I step in. “Nope, she didn’t. Damn lucky she made it back to town driving like her ass was on fire.”
Teale’s mouth drops open, and I smirk at her. It’s then I notice her eyes are endless pools of blue. Such a strange combination of hair and eye color, slowly dragging me into her with an invisible rope of wanting. I had my fair share of girls back in high school and even a few short-term ones here on campus, but she’s different. There’s something behind her expression and piercing eyes telling me she’s far wiser than her years.
“Traitor.” She throws a pen at me.
It sails straight for my face, but I’m faster, reaching up and snatching it before it takes out an eye.
“Quick hands,” her dad praises.
I set the pen back down on the counter. “Looking for a job, Sir. Noticed your sign in the window.”
“I’m the secretary in the joint.” Teale shrugs.
“Not wanting your job, Jeff Gordon.” I lean an elbow on the counter.
“Quit calling me that. Gordon is a damn pussy. I’m more of a Bowyer, type girl.”
“Teale.” This time it’s her dad tossing a pen at her. “Clean that mouth of yours up.”
“What the hell do you expect? I was raised in a mechanic repair shop with a bunch of grease monkeys!”
“Don’t even know why I even try to reason with you.” Her dad turns his attention on me. “Got any experience behind a wrench?”
I nod. “Yes, Sir.”
“Quit with all that proper shit, Hunter. It’s weird.” Teale flops down in an office chair in the corner, kicking her tattered Chucks up on the desk littered with paperwork. “He tends to answer to Old Man, asshole, or Frank.”
I shake my head chuckling, loving this lighter and carefree side of her. “Frank, from Southern Idaho grew up on a ranch. Have plenty of experience with a wrench, welder, and restoring engines.”
“What kind of hours are you looking for, Hunter? Can’t afford a full-time employee right now, but in need of an extra set of hands.”
“Tight ass.” Teale coughs in her hand; the words are loud and clear.
Frank glares over at his daughter, scooting his wire-rimmed glasses down his nose. “Have to be to be able to afford new tires for you.”
They go back and forth for a long time, and I’m starting to think the hopes of finding a job where I can get my hands dirty and add money to my bank account is a waste of time.
“Here.” Franks slams some paperwork down on the counter. “Job’s yours, just need you to fill this out.”
“Don’t we need to talk about hours and when I’m available? I’m a sophomore at the University.”
“Yep, can smell a college student a mile away. Never had one work out here, but I’ll give you a shot for helping my daughter.”
“You’re welcome,” Teale hollers from behind a magazine she’s reading.
It ain’t no glamor or fashion magazine, but a damn outdoor hunting one. This one is going to hurt I can already tell.
“Fill them out then I’ll give you the quick tour of the garage, and we’ll discuss hours. I’m okay with working around your schedule. That’s no problem.” Frank holds his hand out to shake.
He has a firm grip. The type of handshake that’s stable and trustworthy. I notice he has the same color of eyes as his daughter’s, but that’s as far as the resemblance goes. Frank’s a brick shit house, with salt and pepper gray hair and very prominent nose. I settle into the worn couch on the opposite corner of Teale. The thing has seen better days that’s for sure, but it will do.
I fill in all of the blanks I know, like my name, birthdate, and the rest of the monotonous bullshit. It’s quite embarrassing that I don’t know how to fill out the rest of the W-4. Always working on the ranch back home, none of this was ever an issue. Dad told me if I got a job while at college he’d kick my ass. He knew me all too well, and my drive to work and stay busy. You know what they say, the nut doesn’t fall far from the tree and all that bullshit. It’s his fault I’m the way I am. Instilled a work ethic in me from a young age never accepting a half ass job.
I pull my phone out and dial up my mom’s number, steadying myself for her wrath. She won’t be happy, but she’ll just roll her eyes and smile. “Bub.”
“Hey, Mom.” I look up to see Teale, who’s working at her desk while listening in on my conversation.
“What’s going on?”
“Mom, do I file independently or claim one or what?”
“Hunter?”
“Mom, just need help here.”
“You’re getting a job?” She asks, already knowing the answer.
A nervous laugh escapes me, readying myself for her reaction.
“It’s my second job,” I reply, never being a liar.
Blair Yates is not one to back down from a fight and always has to be right, so she s
hocks me when she answers each question easily. Mom keeps all the books back home on the ranch and is basically the brains of the operation. Even though I can’t see her I know, there’s a smile on her face as frustrated as she probably is.
“Your dad is going to kick your ass, Hunter. We’ve told you over and over again that we’d help you out so you can focus on school and live the college life.”
“Mom, I’m bored. I need to work.”
“Hunter, you need to live a bit. I mean, I don’t want you going all balls out like Burton by any means, but just live a little. You’ve always been too old for your age.”
I laugh into the phone, if only she knew just how out there Burton’s balls are on a nightly basis. “Will do. I’ll be home in just a month for Thanksgiving break, so tell Dad to start working out to kick my ass.”
“Will do. Love you, Bub.”
“Love you, too, Mom. Oh, and let Quinn know I sent off her birthday present, might show up a day late.”
“Okay, can’t believe she’s going to be fifteen already.”
“Tell Hell on Wheels I put something in there for her, too.”
I end the call to look up at a smiling Teale, who is no longer hiding the fact she was eavesdropping. I blink twice, then once again, and I am certain she has tears building up in her eyes.
“You okay over there, Hot Rod?” I ask with a flick of the head.
“You told your momma you loved her and bought presents…”
“For my sister’s birthday and put in a surprise for my little shithead sister.” I stand walking closer to her. “You crying, Teale?”
“No, it’s dust.”
I peer around the room then lean in on her desk. “Ain’t no dust in here.”
“Allergies.”
I crook up an eyebrow asking her to expand.
“I’m allergic to emotions.” She grins slightly.
“I’ve heard that can be the real shits,” I reply, before laying my paperwork on her desk and going out to the shop.